


What Dreams May Come

by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)



Series: Assorted Narnia Crossovers and AUs [26]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Post-Book: The Last Battle (Narnia), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 19:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer
Summary: In which Susan Pevensie hires the Inception team to wake her brother from a coma.





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [be_themoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_themoon/gifts).

> Because you asked for Edmund surviving the train crash, immortal Pevensies, and crossovers. :)
> 
> (For those unfamiliar with _Inception_, it's a heist story about a group of dream thieves who are hired to insert an idea into someone's mind. The McGuffin they use to enter dreams is called a PASIV, which is basically a silver briefcase that acts as a multi-person IV dispenser for a drug called Somnacin. Dreamsharing technology is never explained beyond that and might as well be magic.)

"Lovely house," Eames said as they finished the abbreviated tour and followed Ms. Pevensie into the small office suite on the ground floor, apparently cobbled together from the last individual owner's study and cigar room. "It's impressive to see one of the old piles so well kept up in this day and age, without chopping up the inside to install mod-cons and opening another bloody hotel."

"That would be thanks to my great-grandmother," Ms. Pevensie said as she closed the office door, offering a smile as brisk and professional as her suit trousers and jacket. "She was named executor of the Kirke Trust in 1950, and decided to rehabilitate the buildings and land into something as close to a working Georgian estate as one could manage in modern times. But you're not here to talk about the house."

"It is _really_ impressive, though," Ariadne said as she sat between Eames and Arthur on one of the decadently soft couches. "But yeah. We're here about your brother and his coma. And um, not to be rude, but..." She trailed off, awkwardly, because despite her disclaimer there wasn't any non-rude way to continue the question.

Thankfully Ms. Pevensie didn't seem offended. "You're wondering why I chose to hire an illegal extraction team rather than go through more legitimate channels?"

Ariadne nodded.

Ms. Pevensie's smile warmed, and Ariadne flushed at the sudden realization that underneath the other woman's forbidding competence and reserve, she was possibly the most beautiful person Ariadne had ever seen.

"I have two reasons," Ms. Pevensie said. "First, people in the... shall we say, less regulated side of dreamwork are much more likely to have a breadth of experience in all the quirks of human consciousness, and the ways a dream can be twisted. The people currently running clinical trials on dream therapy are only just now getting their feet wet in a wading pool, whereas you've been swimming in the open sea for years. In short, you're the experts and the first rule of successful management is to hire the most qualified people and let them do what they do best."

"And second?" Arthur asked, with a smile that was just as polite and impersonal as Ms. Pevensie's had been earlier.

"Second, I have some cause to believe that by their very nature, dreams are best manipulated sideways and from shadows. Even if the clinicians had a depth of experience equal to yours, I still suspect you would achieve more significant results. As every child learns, magic fades when expected to abide by daylight logic," Ms. Pevensie said. "And third, as I'm sure you've discovered, I have some secrets of my own. It's much less bother to deal with people who understand boundaries than to let the government nose about areas one prefers to keep private."

'Some secrets' was an understatement. Despite his best efforts, Arthur had been unable to track Ms. Pevensie's personal history back further than her move to the Lake Country five years ago, one year before she'd assumed her current position as executor of the Kirke Trust. To all appearances she'd coalesced out of thin air and somehow conned the previous executor, her supposed great-grandmother, into claiming her as kin. But Ariadne had been learning when to ask questions and when to hold her peace -- and as Ms. Pevensie had implied, she had secrets of her own these days.

"You're a woman after my own heart," Eames proclaimed, and let himself slouch sideways against the arm of the couch. Ariadne resisted the urge to poke him for unprofessionalism. "Well then. Let's get down to business. How long has dear Edmund been in his coma, and what makes you so certain it's something dream-based rather than physiological trauma?"

"He was involved in a serious vehicular crash shortly after his nineteenth birthday. He's twenty-five now," Ms. Pevensie said.

Six years, then. Ariadne noted the oddness of the phrasing and set it aside to poke at later.

"As for why I'm certain the coma is psychological rather than physiological, I can show you extensive medical records explaining that he has no detectable brain trauma and all his other injuries have long since healed," Ms. Pevensie continued. "There is, so far as modern medical science can tell, no reason for him not to regain consciousness. His brain waves are even slightly abnormal, in ways that generally signal a patient on the verge of waking -- or at least one who retains some consciousness and can register their environment. Yet he sleeps on, and I've never managed so much as an eyelid twitch in response to environmental stimuli."

"That is a puzzler," Eames agreed. "I'd almost pay you for the chance to take a peek inside his head."

This time, Ariadne did poke him.

"Mr. Eames's professional curiosity aside, we'll maintain the terms of the contract as previously stipulated," Arthur said, smoothly taking over the conversation. "You understand that we can't guarantee results in the sense of waking your brother, and we may not even be able to determine precisely what's causing his coma. But we'll put forth our best efforts and if nothing else, if his subconscious proves relatively stable, we may be able to take you under to speak with him."

"Of course," Ms. Pevensie agreed. "I wouldn't expect anyone to promise miracles. With all that agreed, shall I take you to meet him?"

"Yes, please," Ariadne said. "Oh, and will we be able to arrange a private room at the medical facility where you're keeping him? It's important that we not be interrupted."

Ms. Pevensie offered another brisk, impersonal smile. "That won't be a problem. He's just next door, in my flat -- it used to be the housekeeper's and butler's rooms, but my great-grandmother did do a _bit_ of chopping and installing mod-cons, and one benefit of being one's own employer is that if one wishes to keep one's brother at home, it's not terribly difficult to arrange."

She led the way down the oak-paneled corridor to a discreet door, which she unlocked with both an antique silver key and a modern card scanner. Once inside, Ariadne and her partners trooped through a comfortably shabby living room and kitchen into a small room with a high window, white curtains, and lemon pastel walls. A hospital bed and a panel of intimidating machinery dominated the space. Despite the lacey curtains, the overall effect was far more purposeful and scientific than the PASIV Arthur was carrying in its modest silvery case.

The young man in the bed was slack-faced and clean-shaven, and bore a strong resemblance to his sister, down to the short, no-nonsense length of their dark hair. It was hard to tell with his eyes closed and his mouth parted around a feeding tube, but Ariadne thought that if he were awake, he would have a similar magnetic effect to Ms. Pevensie, whose beauty once again caught Ariadne in the gut when she smiled down at her brother, wry and tender, and smoothed her hand across his forehead.

"Ed, I've brought some people to bring you home," Ms. Pevensie said, softly. "I know you may not want to wake -- you're probably having marvelous adventures wherever your mind has traveled -- but I miss you. Come back to me."

She glanced up at Ariadne and her team, no sign of embarrassment visible at having such personal words overhead by strangers. "I assume you need someone to watch while you're asleep. I have nowhere to be for the next hour and a half."

Ariadne caught Arthur and Eames exchanging a speaking glance. They'd planned to have only Eames and Ariadne go under the first time, with Arthur to monitor their bodies and the PASIV for signs of trouble. That was still safest, considering Ms. Pevensie had no training in what to watch for. On the other hand, the fewer trips they took, the less trouble they'd stir among Edmund Pevensie's projections, and Arthur would eventually need to make a first-hand assessment of what they were dealing with.

Eventually Arthur gave a minute shake of his head. Ariadne promptly turned to Ms. Pevensie and said, "Thank you, but for this first time only Eames and I are going under. Arthur can show you how to monitor us in case we all need to be asleep at once later on."

Ms. Pevensie nodded. "Of course. I do have some medical training, for obvious reasons, but I hired you for your expertise. Is there anything you'll need before getting started?"

"Three chairs, love, unless you'd rather we lie on the floor," Eames said, and grinned at Ms. Pevensie's raised eyebrow.

Ariadne rolled her eyes and began to help Arthur set up their PASIV on Edmund Pevensie's bedside table, place a bottle of Yusuf's latest Somnacin blend into the infuser, and unroll the IV tubes and cannulae.

"What do you think we'll find?" she asked as Ms. Pevensie and Eames departed in search of comfortable chairs. "What would keep a man asleep for six years without a physical cause, especially when he has family to come back for?" An endless replay of his accident? Black nothingness where all hope and volition drained away? An imagined and idealized life like Dom and Mal had constructed in Limbo? Nothing felt quite right.

Dom had stayed away from his family for years, but he'd been actively trying to get home for all of them. Even his guilt and self-destructive impulses made sense once Ariadne had pieced together the jigsaw of his past. Edmund Pevensie, in contrast, had simply abdicated from his life. The need to find the missing pieces of his puzzle, turn and recombine them until they resolved into meaning, itched at the back of her mind like an old, familiar earworm.

Arthur smiled and shrugged as he fished a handful of single-use alcohol wipes from a little compartment in the PASIV case. "Nothing I can imagine. But I'm sure you'll tell me all about it when you wake."

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete as it stands, but I don't rule out the possibility of a continuation some day in the future...


End file.
